Though The Earth Be Removed
by Jedi Buttercup
Summary: Maybehaps River had known this was coming, and figured she could talk Mal into it anyway. He surely did have trouble denying her things. But a man had to at least make the effort.
1. Isn't That Always The Story?

**Title**: Isn't That Always The Story?

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Rating**: T

**Disclaimer**: The words are mine; the worlds are not.

**Summary**: _River usually did have something like a reason for every wild hair she took. But this time, she better have her a reason that even her busted-up old Captain could comprehend._ 3000 words.

**Spoilers**: Firefly post-Serenity; Mummy Returns (2011)

**Notes**: 24 Days of Ficmas 2011, Day 7: for ViaLethe. Prompt: "River is trying to reorganize Mal's ship, in various ways, and that's making Mal's life more difficult than he'd like it. Super extra bonus points if you can manage a crossover with The Mummy."

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><p>Mal stared down into the storage bin that used to house some of Jayne's stockpiled weaponry, and crossed his arms over his chest. "Huh," he said. "Those sure don't look to be grenades."<p>

Jayne made an exasperated noise and bent down to pluck up one of the fist-sized bits of mechanical workings packed into the unsecured space. "That's what I done _told_ you," he said. "Tell me something I don't know. Like where my grenades've gone, since they obviously ain't here."

Mal tilted his head, examining the doohickey, then lifted his chin toward the hatch between the lounge space and the cargo bay. "I ain't moved 'em, and I don't 'spect Kaylee has, though those look an awful lot like the bits and bobs she keeps out there. You checked the spare parts hold yet?"

Jayne scowled, dropping the part back into the bin. "No. Who in the hell would stow grenades where nobody could get to 'em iffin' the ship was bein' attacked? Wouldn't make no kind of sense."

Mal rolled his eyes at that. "Still got the ones in your quarters, don't we? Ah!" He raised a cautioning finger. "Don't lie to me, Jayne; I know how many weapons you keep over that bed of your'n, and I'd bet you my stake in the next job you don't pay any more attention to my rule says 'don't keep anything in crew quarters goes boom', as Kaylee and the Doc do to my rule says 'no fraternizing with crew'."

Jayne opened his mouth to object, then clearly thought better of it and shrugged ruefully. "Okay, you got me there. Still. The spare parts hold? There's way more widgets out there than would fit in just this here bin." He stared down into it a moment longer, then frowned.

"_Dĕng yī miăo_," he said, and bent to pull out the next bin in the line, normally full of ammo for the guns racked above. It held spare parts too- as did the next one he yanked out, and the next, and the next. All of 'em, in fact, that used to hold the surplus crew-shared arsenal. His face grew more and more disgruntled with each one. "_Zhè shì shénme làn dōngxi_? It's all of it, Mal. All of it. What ruttin' idiot would do somethin' like this?"

He sounded almost hurt. Mal speculated a moment on how his merc might react if he told him what he was starting to suspect was going on, then packed that amusing image away and shook his head mournfully. "Got to've had a reason for it, whoever done the deed. Go check the hold; see if it was a straight swap, tally up what's missing if it ain't all there."

Jayne kicked the last bin closed again with a snarl of disgust, then stalked out into the cargo bay, making a beeline for the small side hold where Kaylee kept her spare parts store.

Mal sighed, then glanced up in the direction of the bridge. Things were getting to the point he was going to have to _say_ something, and soon. He'd let it slide when all the liquor in the kitchen cabinets had miraculously vanished into the locked pantry; and Kaylee had rather appreciated the waist-height magnetized rack someone had welded up on a spare space of wall to hold the tools she usually left loose when they weren't entering or exiting atmo. This was taking things a mite far, though, if there weren't a platinum-plated reason for it.

Well. River usually _did_ have something like a reason for every wild hair she took. But this time, she better have her a reason that even her busted-up old Captain could comprehend.

It would have to wait 'til they'd unloaded their latest cargo, though. Load of old Earth shinies like they had, broke out of an Alliance museum during the war, would bring a heap of trouble down on their heads if the least little thing went awry before delivery. Any of it disappeared from the tally, any seals broke, or someone lost track of the cargo receipt papers proving as how _Serenity_ was just the innocent transpo hired for shipping and not the original thieves, and events would get a whole lot less predictable than he'd like.

He'd have turned the job down on that count alone, if it weren't for how much it paid, and the fact it would take 'em within shuttle distance of a Companion House right around the time for Inara's next scheduled appointment. Wouldn't quite put 'em as flush as the Lassiter, but near enough and for less hassle, even after half the fee went back to the old war buddy who'd offered the contract. Trafficking in rarities was a very, very limited market, but it sure could set a body up for life if he could manage it.

He shook his head, then went out into the cargo bay his ownself, drifting over toward the netted-down collection of locked crates, sensor-taped boxes, and wrap-sealed coffin-shaped things what would probably violate that body-shipping rule Alliance had if it weren't for the fact they were old enough to call 'antiquities'. Mummies, or somesuch. He'd done a fair bit of reading back before the War, but those old tales of Emperors what had their brains yanked out through their noses after they died and had their material wealth buried with 'em always seemed more fanciful than even stories of aliens. Bunch of _fèihuà_; what brain fever could ever give a man cause to do such things?

Didn't change the fact he had several of them on board his ship, though. He shuddered a little, then jumped half out of his skin at the sudden _shfff_ of bare foot on metal, right next to him. Fair brought to mind the accompanying tales of linen-wrapped dead men walking; though of course it was only his pilot, being her usual unsettling self.

"One of these days, I'm goin' to have Inara sew bells on all your dresses, little one," he said.

A second later, Jayne swore again across the cargo bay, then slammed the hatch of the parts hold shut and went back into the body of the ship.

River watched him go, a tiny satisfied smile curving her mouth in confirmation of Mal's suspicions. Then she turned to stare at the nearest of the coffin-y boxes, tilting her head so's her long, dark hair swept over her shoulder like a curtain. "They thought they'd get to take it with them," she mused, thoughtfully.

The hair on his arms stood on end at her little proclamation; it reminded him more than he'd like of the time she'd cried over the silent folk on Miranda. Didn't sit right with him she could read perished folk as well as the living. "Their burial goods? Take 'em where? They're _dead_."

"To the afterlife," she said, matter-of-factly, shooting him another amused look. "All they leave behind are echoes; what is only representation in this world has substance in the other."

That almost made him feel a mite better- but only almost, because the very next thing she did was furrow her brow and take a long step closer to the box, reaching between the strands of the net to flatten her palm against the wrapping. "Except for these two. They're noisier than the others."

Mal swallowed, uneasiness squirming in his stomach, and reached for the most logical explanation he could think up. "Noiser, as how? Mean to say we got us another pair of Traceys in that coffin?"

She thought on that a moment more, concentrating, then shook her head slowly. "They didn't mean to. Brothers mean well, but what they think is best isn't always so. Chaos intervened." Then she focused again, crouching as she traced her fingers further down the wrapping to peer through it at the symbols carved into the gilded surface beneath. "Let them sleep until the silent world speaks with the stolen girl's voice," she murmured, rapt. "When the people once more need protectors of man, let them rise again."

"That what all that picture-writing says?" Mal frowned at her, disturbed at the echo of recent events. "Or's that some kind of play act you're doin'?"

River didn't answer; instead, she started attacking the wrappings with her fingernails, tentatively at first and then more furiously. Neatly trimmed crescents, still covered in lavender shellac from girl-time with Inara and Kaylee the day before, slid over the tough plastic without making an imprint; Mal leapt forward to wrap wide hands around her waist and pull her away.

"River!" he said, firmly. "Explanation first, _băobèi_." Playing dumb but teachable, he'd learned, worked a sight better with the girl than trying to downright forbid. They'd had a time of it on the bridge before he'd figured that out, when she'd see things coming and fair make his heart stop by reacting before his mark one eyeball caught up.

She shook her head wildly, though she did go still in his grip rather than stomp his instep or elbow his groin. He knew very well she could have broke free, if she'd wanted. "They'll suffocate; I have to let them out!"

Mal swallowed. She sounded too upset to be inventing it; how many days had those drugs kept Tracey down, again? "That gonna happen this instant, or we got time to drag your brother down here first?"

River calmed a little, considering; he left his hands where they were, but resting-like, not digging in to restrain anymore. For such a slight thing, she put out heat like a furnace; he always felt warmer, standing close to her. "It won't happen 'til I read the words right. I thought I had; but I didn't. That which was set out down in the ancient tongue must be lifted the same way. They're going to be all right."

She smiled up at him in relief, and Mal swallowed as his heart jumped in his chest. He let go, taking a careful step back as the situation caught up with him, and nodded. "I'll just pretend like that made some kind of sense and go get your _gēge_, shall I?"

Her smile tugged down a little at the corner, but didn't fade entirely. "You _do_ understand," she chided him. "But you don't yet comprehend."

Somehow, he had a feeling she wasn't talking about the hieroglyphs anymore. Nor the redecorating she'd been doing, neither. He gave her an awkward nod, then turned and headed for the dining area; last he'd seen, the doc was having lunch with Kaylee. Far safer to interrupt them than dwell any longer on thoughts he wasn't having.

Ten minutes later, composure back in place and surrounded by the entire and very curious crew, Mal unstrapped the netting at two of the tie-down points, enough for the box in question to slide free.

"I don't like this," Zoe said. "If they're smuggling folk in there, could be that was the entire point of this contract. Could be opening it up will void the whole thing; papers or not, if the buyer takes a notion to report the rest of this very shiny trap to the Alliance..." She pursed her lips.

"Ain't like it would be the first time we've had the law on our tail," Mal shrugged. "I hear you, Zoe; but the notion of shipping people like so much cargo puts my back up, and no mistake." He was thinking more of the day River'd come aboard by that point, than Tracey; the cry she'd gave as she sat up out of her crate, terrified and shivering and no wise responsible for putting herself in there. Being shipped sight unseen had worked out for her benefit- but mightn't be for the folk resting in that sarcophagus.

River met his glance, solemn now, the faintest of smiles crinkling the lines around her eyes. Then she glanced over at Zoe, slowly, deliberately dropping her gaze to the level of his second's waist- and the answer to the day's first knotty problem burst over him like a sunrise.

_Zoe's...?_ He let the thought trail off, astonished, hoping she'd hear him.

She raised her eyes to his again, mischief and joy dancing in them, and drew her fingers across her lips like a zipseam.

Right. He cleared his throat, trying to suppress an inappropriate smile of his own. He wouldn't say a word 'til Zoe spoke up, but his day had just brightened considerably. It was hard to drag his mind back to the potential danger in front of them. "Anyone else got an objection?"

"Would it matter if we did?" Jayne shrugged. "Just open her the hell up." He had a pistol in hand, aimed in the vague direction of the thing's lid; probably overkill, but better safe than sorry.

Inara and Kaylee exchanged glances, then nodded to him; Zoe sighed, then stepped aside to let Simon at it. "Ready, then?"

Mal nodded to the doc, then to River. "Do it."

The plastic coating snapped along the line of heat lain down by Simon's unsealer, then fell away like drying leaves, exposing the hieroglyphs on the gilded surface much more clearly. He pushed tentatively at the lid when he finished, but the thing didn't budge; Zoe braced herself to help him try again, but it didn't move that time, neither.

"Simon, Zoe? Hold off a second," he said, before they could strain themselves too much. "River?"

She nodded and stepped closer to trace her fingers over the strange symbols, reading them off in a sonorous voice that sent shivers up his spine again.

When she finished, the thing snapped open with a loud clank, and everyone took an involuntary step back, save Mal and River. She'd known what to expect, of course, and he remembered what she'd said earlier about the ancient language; could easily have been some kind of voice-activated lock on the thing, and all the pushing in the world wouldn't have opened it aforetime.

He set his palms against the lid where Simon's had been and shoved; this time, it slid easily over and hit the floor of the cargo bay with a resounding clang. Unlike River's shipping container, though, it weren't fogged over inside; the occupants were easily visible. A smallish dark-haired woman was clasped in the shielding arms of a much larger man; she wore dark-colored clothes somewhere between Zoe's style and Inara's, and he had sandy brown hair, trousers, boots, and a blue shirt held in place by suspenders.

"Huh," Mal said for the second time that day, glancing down at his own choice of attire.

River giggled, and the strange woman stirred at the sound, burying a yawn against her companion's shoulder. "Go back to bed, Alex," she murmured, an unfamiliar accent underlying the words.

"Sorry, lady," Jayne snorted. "Ain't none of us named Alex. Mind tellin' us what the hell you're doin' in that box?"

"Jayne!" Inara frowned at him. "Give them a moment to wake. I'm sure they're quite disoriented."

Mal had about half a second to register the man's relaxed form stiffening with awareness before the arm draped over the woman shot up out of the box, clutching a pistol pointed unerringly at the sound of Jayne's voice. A pair of very intent blue eyes peered out from behind a sleep-mussed fringe of brown hair, then blinked as River stepped into his line of sight, laying a hand on the barrel of his weapon.

"She's blockin' my shot, Mal," Jayne growled; but Mal shook his head, holding up a hand to shush him as he glanced back and forth between River and their guests. Didn't seem like she'd be putting herself in harm's way if she actually thought she'd get shot.

After a moment, the man eased his finger off the trigger with a frown, though he didn't lower it yet, and cleared his throat. "Who the hell are you?" he said, his accent closer to Mal's than to the woman's but still not familiar. "And where the hell are we?"

"You've been lost a long, long time," River told him, sadly. "No more travelers from the East. You're the last one left."

That seemed to make more sense to the man than to Mal, because he paled, then dropped his weapon entirely and sat up, clutching his woman more tightly against him as she blinked awake. He glanced around, taking in each member of the crew, the size of the cargo bay, and the stack of antiquities still shrouded beside them, and frowned. "Why do I get the feeling we're not in Kansas anymore?" he said, warily.

"'Cause wherever the hell that is, you surely ain't," Mal said, shrugging. "This here's _Serenity_, and my name's Malcolm Reynolds. These're my crew. Mind giving us your names?"

He looked Mal up and down for a long suspicious moment, then around at the others again, gaze lingering briefly on each of them. "I'm Rick O'Connell," he said, finally. "And this is my wife, Evie. Which you should know, since her brother Jonathan's got to be behind this. Where is he? Where's our son?"

"Ain't here," Mal told him. "You're on a ship; we took you aboard as part of that there cargo. Maybe, if you told us what world you last remember bein' on..."

"_World_?" Rick blurted, blue eyes widening dramatically.

"_World_? You can't mean this isn't _Earth?_" his wife echoed him in horror, turning dark eyes on them as she straightened in her husband's embrace.

"_Gāoyáng zhōng de gūyáng_," Mal muttered. He'd jinxed 'em all earlier, hadn't he? 'Cause this was about the last thing he'd ever have thought to predict.

At least River had seemed to think they'd be the protecting sort, he told himself fatalistically, then reached out a hand. "How about we discuss it upstairs where it's a mite more comfortable. And Jayne? Break out the whiskey. I have a feelin' we're going to need it, for this."

-x-

_Dĕng yī miăo_ - Hold on a second  
><em>Zhè shì shénme làn dōngxi<em> - What is this garbage?  
><em>fèihuà<em> - nonsense  
><em>băobèi<em> - sweetheart  
><em>gēge<em> - older brother  
><em>Gāoyáng zhōng de gūyáng<em> - Motherless goats of all motherless goats

-x-


	2. And I Heard Her Saying, Come And See

**Title:** And I Heard Her Saying, Come And See

**Author:** Jedi Buttercup

**Rating:** T

**Disclaimer:** The words are mine; the worlds are not.

**Summary:** _Mal was just collecting all manner of corpsical transportation methods, wasn't he?_ 2600 words.

**Spoilers:** Post-Serenity, with a touch of Mal/River; and very post-series for Sleepy Hollow.

**Notes:** 24 Days of Ficmas 2013, Day 16: for ViaLethe. Prompt: "River and Ichabod hit it off. Mal and Abbie stare at them in bemusement." Originally posted to LJ on 10/22/14.

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><p>Malcolm Reynolds took one look at the boxes that his pilot had bid on in the freight yard auction and crossed his arms over his chest. "No."<p>

River's excited smile faded. He hated to see the sparkle go out of those lively dark eyes, but there was no way she hadn't known it was coming.

"I won them," she insisted, mouth firming with stubbornness. "Fair and square. They're mine."

"Then I suggest you find someone else to sell 'em to 'fore we leave world again," he replied. "'Cause no way, no how are they going aboard my ship."

"_Our_ ship," River countered.

"_The_ ship. Of which I am the owner of record and Captainy type person," he insisted in turn. "You think I don't know trouble when I see it?"

Trouble like the woman before him. Maybehaps she _had_ known this was coming, and figured she could talk him into it anyway. He surely did have trouble denying her things. But given the way his nerves prickled at the very sight of her prizes? A man had to at least make the effort.

"The ship where I _live_. Where you told me I could use my cut to buy anything I wanted." River's eyes widened in entreaty, close as could be to a pout without actual wobbling of lip.

Mal sputtered. "Tell anyone you like I'm bein' a mean, cruel _húndàn_. But they ain't coming aboard _Serenity_. Those are _coffins_, River-girl. A pair of pine boxes just a bit longer than a man is tall? Ain't nothin' _but_ comes in a crate that size. And I _know_ you remember what happened the last time we brought one on board. Never mind the time before that."

"And the time before that?" she said archly. She didn't bother gesturing to herself; the point was self-evident. Though she'd come aboard in a cryobox, not a sealed modern coffin, or the ancient sarcophagus their last accidental crew additions had come packaged in. Mal was just collecting all _manner_ of corpsical transportation methods, wasn't he?

He blew out a frustrated breath. "Not sayin' _all_ the consequences been bad ones. But there _have_ been consequences. Every time. And I just don't know as how we're in the best position to field such right now." He made darting side-eyes toward Kaylee, bright-eyed and merry a couple of bays down, one hand splayed over the front of her swelled-out coveralls while she sorted through a pile of shipyard odds and ends. There was Zoë to consider, too, and little Alleyne Hoban Washburne, and River knew it. Mal's second had become fiercer than ever with motherhood, inclined to deal with any possible threat to the little 'un- and those as brought 'em aboard- with swift prejudice.

River's expression softened as she gazed at her sister-in-law, echoing a hint of Kaylee's warm mood. Then she shook it off and narrowed her eyes at Mal again. "Won't cost half the job-fee this time," she said, referring to the aftermath of their antiquities smuggling job (naturally, the royal sarcophagus had been the most valuable item in the lot, and it weren't worth nothin' with the seals broke). "Won't get anyone shot. Or draw the Alliance down on _Serenity_."

"But you're not denying there _will_ be consequences," he frowned at her. "Where are they even from? This was, what," he glanced away, looking for the labels identifying the boxes' origins, "cargo off a Reaver-hit short-hauler outbound from Sleepy Hollow over on Irving? Sold as is, unopened. I bet. That's an old-dirt moon; deep core. Why would they be shippin' _coffins_ in the first place? Can't be a good sign."

"Not coffins," River insisted again, shaking her head. "Treasure chests."

She kept her long, silky hair largely braided back these days; used to be she'd used it as another shield between her and the 'verse, tilting her head to peer out through its shiny curtain when she couldn't stand to look at folk straight-on, but it had been awhile since she'd needed that buffer. When she got mind-weary now, she tended to anchor on one of the crew, particularly Mal or her brother, blocking out all else in the swirl of their emotions. Mal liked to think he could feel her there, sometimes, like a patch of tangled warmth at the back of his thoughts; but she was far from in sync with him at the moment, all obstinate and gloriously independent.

"No sleeping folk this time? You promise?" he caved.

She raised an eyebrow, then, favoring him with the disgusted look she usually gave her brother when he was being _particularly_ moronic.

Mal rocked back on his heels, uncrossing his arms to tuck his thumbs in his gunbelt, and sighed. "S'pose I'll have to take your word for it. I did say you could buy any prize you wanted. But I'm tellin' you now, if there _are_ old mummies inside- or drugged folk, or some long-lost cousin in cryo- I'm tipping 'em right out the airlock, no matter who they are, _dŏng ma_?"

The stern line of her mouth melted back into a wide smile, at that: sunshine peering out from behind a cloud. "_Xiè xie_, Mal," she said, cheerily, and darted up on tippy-toe to peck him on the lips.

He gathered her close, all lithe kinetic energy, like a lightning strike in his arms. He felt like a dirty old man every time she did that out in public, and she knew it; but it also short-circuited every nerve in body and soul, and she knew that, too. One of the benefits- or downsides, depending on the day- of pairing up with a Reader.

Then a throat cleared at his side, and they pulled apart to meet the amused gaze of Evy O'Connell. Evy and her husband had taken up residence in the spare shuttle once they'd decided to stick around, and often parked on back moons to do a bit of digging or research while the crew ran delivery jobs, joining up again the next time _Serenity_ passed 'em by. They tended to make sure they were around when the crew did any serious shopping, though; the missus had a real curious mind, and enjoyed digging through discarded bits and bobs to flesh out all the history that had passed her by.

Some, she sold; others, she kept, in a double-locked vault magnetized to the floor of the shuttle. Mal didn't like to think about why; if'n he did, he was fair sure he'd react much as he had when he'd first seen the coffins. But that was the O'Connells' business... and it seemed he'd got in the habit of repossessing esoteric weapons fumbled out of Alliance hands, anyhow.

"Ah, did I hear someone say treasure chests?" Evy asked, shifting that day's basketful of purchases to a hip as she raised a querying eyebrow at River. Something big and square and a glossy sort of black with carvings on the cover poked out of it; Mal tried very hard not to notice. Weren't his business to know. "What sort of treasure have you uncovered today?"

Something about River's smile told Mal she'd done that sort of thing on Evy's behalf in the past... but before that unease could sink roots, she laid out a whole other set of statements to worry on.

"Not yours this time," she said. "Nor ours. So many worlds need more than one set of Witnesses to cover them. But they'll find us before long. We may have sealed Conquest for a time, but War's been sharpening his knives again, and Death rides with him."

Mal sucked in a sharp breath. "Little albatross..."

River gave him a crooked smile. "Told you the storm was getting worse," she replied, laying a finger across his lips. "But you were right, too; we'll pass through it soon enough."

* * *

><p>For all the ominous thunder of her warning, the next several weeks flew by smooth enough. The only difference from the usual routine was that the O'Connells kept their shuttle docked, as did Inara; Mal didn't know what River had said to their Companion, but he found them together in his bunk several times during that stretch of waiting, ornate ivory-handled brush sweeping through River's unbound hair. Picture worthy of a painting: one that deserved a much better setting than he could give 'em.<p>

Inara had taken up the role of older sister to River since the girl had made her interest in Mal clear enough for even him to notice; oddly enough, that had made it easier for Mal to relate to her. Easier to adopt the same fraternal affection he gave Kaylee in place of fraught looks and fights; the first time he'd dropped an absent-minded kiss on Inara's head, she'd given him a startled look, then laughed at his befuddled expression. Probably ought to chap his pride she hadn't wasted more energy on pining, but he was a practical sort of man. Things going smoother than he deserved, he'd decided not to question.

Wind blew northerly, he went north; and River had no rudder, neither, courtesy of the Alliance. He conjured it was as close to divine will as he was like to find that they'd ended up flying the same course.

A couple months after River's winnings came aboard, tucked back in one of the storage holds, they put in at Beaumonde and in fine old tradition advertised for a couple of passengers. The Operative's word had held, little as Mal wanted to owe the man anything; their records were clear, and it was an easy way to defray the fuel costs of a few of their new regular runs. Lot of folk needing supplies or transpo in the Burnham Quadrant and a lot fewer ships to move 'em since the Reavers swept through; _Serenity_'s services had been in refreshingly high demand. Enough for Fanty and Mingo to drop their cut back to twenty-five from forty.

Mal thought nothing of it 'til he returned from a meet with the self-same Rample brothers to find a woman in an old-style Rim-world law officer's uniform seated at the table, next to a shaggy-haired man with neatly trimmed facial hair and an even older style of long, hand-sewn jacket. He'd never seen them before, but there was something oddly familiar about 'em; and not just because their body language reminded him a bit of him and Zoë. Veterans. Partners. And a little too rough around the edges to be Alliance.

The woman saw him come in; she gave him a thoughtful frown, then elbowed her friend. The man was bent over something on the table, though- that old Bible of Book's? Mal thought he recognized the tattered pages River had once cut up- and ignored the warning.

"So you see, it's not meant to be literal; only a guidepost," he was saying intently, in some rarefied coreworld accent. "Though not all translations are the same, I believe it can be unequivocally said that a faithful transcription of history is _not_ its purpose."

River sat across from him, the only one of the crew present, fiddling with the end of her braid; a small, nostalgic smile turned up one corner of her mouth as she replied. "Many Shepherds would disagree with you," she said. "But I knew a wise one, once, who said much the same. 'It's not about making sense. It's about believing in something and letting that belief be real enough to change your life.'"

"Well spoken," the man replied.

Mal swallowed at the memory of bloody hands on his face; of Book urging him to _believe_.

He cleared his throat. "River, _băobèi_? Care to introduce our guests?"

River's expression brightened as she grinned up at him. "But you know who they are already," she said. "They've come to collect their things."

A frown wrinkled Mal's brow as he glanced between the pair, trying to recall whether anyone had left a package with them since... ah, hell.

"_Shàngdì de dàn_," he swore. He and Evy'd looked into River's precious pine boxes before helping her pack them away; there'd been heaps of ancient maps of Earth-That-Was, musty old books, weapons of strange make and sharp edge for the up-close kill, and at least one very old, marked up copy of the Good Book.

River's grin widened at that, mischievousness over a sharp edge. "Not testicles; _Mùjí zhŭ_," she said, brightly.

The strangers exchanged a speaking look; then the man reached slowly to slip the Bible out from under River's hand, carefully turning it and flipping pages until he came to a particular passage.

"And power was given unto them... to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth," he read, in low, querying tones.

River nodded, attention once again fixed on the man across from her, to the exclusion of everyone else in the room. "We were there for the last two seals; but we didn't know. Didn't see. War, conquest, chaos come again... until I spoke for the silent world. Now they wake to ride again."

Her conversational partner nodded enthusiastically. "I knew when I saw the Miranda broadcast that when we found its origin point, we would locate one of this generation's Witnesses; but when we went to Irving to retrieve the gear we'd cached there before the war and discovered it empty..."

Mal shook his head as the conversation ran onward, completely unconcerned with any further input from him; he glanced at the man's companion, who bore a similarly bemused expression, and pulled out the chair next to her.

"Since the answer 'pears to have got away from my partner; how 'bout _you_ introduce you and yours," he addressed the woman, wryly.

Shared amusement lit up her features. Before she'd seemed somehow old and young at once, the way River often did; vital with youth but wearied by her trials. Good humor made her prettier- but softened her character not at all. Pure tempered steel. "You can call me Abbie. He's Ichabod- though most people call him Crane. We're... well, it's kind of a long story."

"So I'm hearin'," he said, gesturing to River and Crane, who were still nattering on with evident enthusiasm. "Ain't heard her that worked up in... well, quite awhile." Since she'd asked a merciful God to take her away, back on Miranda. He wondered what fresh Hell that meant for them now.

Abbie's smile deepened. "Been awhile since he had a chance to explain it all from the start. It's usually too much for most people to take in."

"Can't imagine why," Mal replied, dryly.

"You haven't heard the half of it," she continued, ruefully. "Wait 'til he gets to, 'and Death cursed us to die by the sword, as had his love'. Which makes going on five hundred years now we've spent carefully avoiding sharp edges."

Mal blinked. She'd seemed awful sane for a crazy person. He glanced over at River in disbelief... and caught her giving him the _yúbèn de_ look again.

He cleared his throat, blinking again, and turned back to Abbie. Right. Perspective. He'd heard stranger, hadn't he?

"Ah. You met the O'Connells yet? Bet Evy'll have questions; she slept through most of those years, and she finds the official histories of the period a mite underwhelming."

It was Abbie's turn to blink at that, then shake her head. "I get the feeling that's something of an understatement," she said, wonderingly.

Mal snorted, then held out a hand. "I get the feelin' you and me are gonna get along just fine."

-x-

_húndàn_ = bastard  
><em>dŏng ma?<em> = understand?  
><em>Xiè xie<em> = Thank you  
><em>băobèi<em> = darling  
><em>Shàngdì de dàn<em> = God's eggs  
><em>Mùjí zhŭ = Witnesses<br>yúbèn de = stupid_

_-x-_


End file.
